Quinn
by Baruk Khazad
Summary: During a case, Sherlock and John meet a young boy, Quinn. Quinn instantly takes a liking to them and starts calling them Daddy and Papa. Can Sherlock and John keep their just-friends relationship as just-friends or will Quinn help them make it more. Parentlock! (First time) Not sure if I should cross it over with Skyfall, but normal for now. Um, not sure if I should continue it.


"Wife of rich businessman found murdered in a local town house. Says here that she was cheating with-" John was cut off by an overly bored Sherlock.

"She was cheating with the chauffeur. The husband killed her because he found out about it. Boring John, boring!" Sherlock growled and flipped himself around on the couch. "Entertain me. That's what I asked. Not read some boring newspaper article about a dead woman's case I solved weeks ago. Plus it was only a four and a half. Terribly easy I'd say."

"Why can't you just be happy? I said I would entertain you and that's what I'm doing." John folded the newspaper and placed in on the kitchen table. "Alright Sherlock, what do you want to do? If you want we can go to the yard and see if there's anything we can help with." There was a moment of pause before Sherlock sighed and stood up. "There see? It's not so hard. Hurry up and I'll make you a cuppa."

"I don't want tea John! I want a case! I want a triple homicide!" Sherlock's voice was lost was he slammed the door to his room. John sighed as he heard Sherlock ranting from the other side of the door. Sherlock was never good at being modest or subtle.

"Sherlock? John? Are you up here?" Ms. Hudson called as she climbed the stairs. She always came to check on them around this time of day. Though she denied it, she was more like a mother than any one of them could have hoped for. "Boys, some investigator just called, he said that there was a murder he wanted your help with. I believe he called himself Gregory Lestrade. I know I'm your landlady, but I'm not your secretary."

"Yes Ms. Hudson, I understand. I'll tell Greg to just call my cell. Sherlock and I are heading out, just making him some tea before we go. What else did he say when he called?" John asked, moving the boiling water off the burner and pouring it into a cup with tea in it.

"Just an address, which I wrote down, and that he needed you to come as soon as possible. Oh and here's the address," she placed a small sticky note on the table. "That's all I came to tell you. Is there anything else that you need?"

"Well," John started, picking up the paper and putting it in his pocket, "we do need some more milk. Though Sherlock's out at all hours he never gets any. Stubborn prat. Anyway thank you for this."

"John! John where are are my shoes? I can't find them!" Sherlock stormed into the kitchen. "Ah, I see we have a case. Now John, back to the case of my shoes."

"Sherlock, where was the last place you checked?" Sherlock said nothing, "You didn't even check did you? Augh Sherlock, how many times do I have to tell you that your things are right where you left it? And yes, we do have a case. Do you want your tea to go?" Sherlock said nothing but went back into his room. "I guess that means no. Well I can't just let perfectly good tea go to waist. Bye miss Hudson, have to get going." John poured the tea into a to-go-cup and walked out into the living room. Sherlock was already there, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Finally John! I was dying of boredom," Sherlock took the lead, as always, and hailed a cab. John handed the cabbie the address paper and sat back. The cab ride was mostly silent, John sipping his tea while Sherlock tapped his fingers in his always-thinking sort of way.

They arrived just as the police were putting an older man in their patrol cars. Anderson and Donovan were standing outside of the small town house, looking smug, as always. Sherlock gently leaned over to John:

"Tell me again why I can't I frame him for murder or even tell his wife that he's cheating? I'm sure she would take it in her hands to give him a good-"

"Sherlock, no. I already told you no. Bad things always come back to those who do bad. He'll get what's coming to him. Now come on, they must be waiting for us for a reason." John paid the cabbie and exited the car. Sherlock was right behind him. "What do you think's going on?"

"Hmmm, husband killed his wife. I believe that is the most plausible sanario. Now, what of their young son. That is a better question."

"Son?" John asked. He looked up to Sherlock confused. "What son?"

"He's ten, his bike is leaning on the house. He has no friends, no one is around the house except neighbors. All adults no kids, therefore no friends. He keeps them isolated. The wife doesn't have any friends either. I bet not one person here knows their names. Who is this boy? Hmmm." Sherlock scanned the area. Taking in all the surroundings and any other information that could be stored or deleted.

"Oh look, the freak is here. We already caught the guy so you can just GO HOME!" Donovan yelled. She really resented him. She hated him so much that she would tell him to leave. Sherlock, luckily, wasn't listening. He always became much quieter when Donovan or Anderson insulted him. John gave them a look and they backed down. For now.

Lestrade, who heard the yelling, came out to meet John and Sherlock, briefing them on the situation.

"Abusive husband beat his wife to death right in front their ten year old son. He hasn't said anything to anyone and I thought maybe you could talk to him. What do you think John, could you talk to him? He might need a friend right now." Lestrade explained leading them through the house. John looked down in the livingroom, there was a large splotch of blood where someone's body had been.

"I think I can try to help him. It might work, I'm not saying that it will, but it might." John looked to see where Sherlock was then turned back to Lestrade. "We're going to have a problem if Donovan and Anderson don't straighten themselves out. I will also file a complaint if they keep insulting him. He really hasn't done anything wrong. Come Sherlock, we have to go see someone." Sherlock turned to John and followed him like an obedient dog.

Lestrade lead them through the house and to a young childs room. The room was painted a light baby blue with crayon marks along the wall. Small glow-in-the-dark stars covered the ceiling and small wooden bed. The bed was covered in dark blue sheets with a checker pattern. A small boy sat on the side of the bed. He had curly chocolate brown hair and warm almond eyes covered by thick black rimmed glasses. No posters covered the walls, no toys littered the floor, there was no joy, no happiness in this house.

John stepped up to the bed and crouched down to see the boys face. He had a large black and blue bruise on his small cheek. "Hi, my name is John Watson. My friend called me here so I can talk to you. What's your name? My friend didn't give it to me so I don't think you told him." The boy curled more into himself and didn't look up. John sighed, "Why don't you tell me about yourself? Favorite animal, favorite color, anything?" Still no response. Before John could speak again Sherlock spoke:

"My father did the same thing. He beat me, my brother, and my mother. My brother was kicked out of the house when I was nine and when I was 12 he came back. He saved me and my mother, but I resented him so much. He left me alone for three years. All alone with my father and no one to protect me. It turns out that he joined the government and had everything taken care of.

"He gave up his whole life to take care of me and I never onced thanked him. And he's still taking care of me. Everything he does is for me, well except for his new boyfriend. That is all for himself, but you get the point. I know exactly what you're going through." Sherlock rolled up his sleeve, showing off burn and cut marks.

"He used to do this to me when I was "bad." I was never really bad, it was all just because he didn't feel good enough about himself. My brother taught me that when I started doing really bad things. Him, Lestrade, and John all helped me through those bad times. They think I don't know it, but I know everything they do for me and I'm thankful for it. Without them, I would probably be right where you are now.

"So, Quinn, I would like if you could trust us. I know I'm going to be of no help to you, but I believe that John can really help you." Sherlock rolled his sleeve back down and looked back to John and Quinn. Throughout Sherlock's speech, Quinn had looked up with wide eyes. "My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend, Doctor John Watson. What's your name?"

John stood and turned to Sherlock, not knowing what to say about the confessions he had just made, but the little boy answered Sherlock's question:

"Quinn, my name is Quinn." Sherlock nodded, knowing that his assumptions were correct. Quinn hopped off the bed and went to Sherlock, tugging on his coat sleeve. Sherlock bent down and Quinn wrapped his arms around his neck. Sherlock was stunned, but when Quinn didn't let go he did the same back and stood up. John looked at them both, both bruised and broken, but still whole somewhere on the inside.

"Come John, lets go see Lestrade." John nodded and walked behind Sherlock and Quinn as they exited the house. Quinn reached his little hand out to John, waiting for him to take it. John smiled and reached out, taking ahold of the boys hand.

When Sherlock and John exited the house, which Sherlock took great means to his the blood stained carpet from Quinn's view, everyone was staring. Donovan's jaw had dropped and her eyes looked wide in surprise and shock. Anderson, who should have looked the same way, was choking on the water he had been drinking before. The press, and some neighbors, were taking pictures and calling out questions. Quinn, startled by all the noise, gripped onto Sherlock and John tighter. As if they were a life line. Lestrade, who had miraculously gotten over the shock of Sherlock holding a child, went over to the two.

"John, Sherlock, I believe we can take it from here," one of the female police officers reached out to take Quinn, but he cried out and wormed away from her touch. Sherlock growled and turned away from the officer. She looked startled but didn't fight for him. She stood down and walked away. "Alright, since he seems to be clinging to you, I'll let you take him to the Yard. John, please make sure that Sherlock actually comes this time."

John nodded, "I'll make sure he comes over with me. We'll be waiting in your office when you get there." John gently lead Sherlock and Quinn to the street curb where they hailed a cab. Sherlock put Quinn down between them and John buckled him in.

"How long have you two been married?" The cabbie asked, trying to make conversation. John was startled by the question. "Sorry if you don't like me asking. I was just curious. So, whose kid is it? Adoption or from a failed marriage or sisters kid, relative, what?"

John looked at Sherlock and Quinn, Quinn had grabbed his and Sherlock's hands, his feet swinging happily. John opened his mouth, but Quinn answered, "Papa, Daddy, and I have been together for five years. They always take good care of me and never hurt me. My other father used to do that, but then Papa found me." Quinn looked up at John and smiled. "Daddy and Papa have been together as long as I can remember. Papa, can we go for ice cream?"

"Why yes Quinn, I believe we can. What do you say Sherlock?" Sherlock mumbled something about Lestrade not being in his office for another 40 or so minutes. John smiled knowing that this was his way of saying yes. "Alright, ice cream it is. Can you drop us off at the next ice cream store?" The cabbie chuckled and nodded.

A few minutes later the cabbie pulled off the road and next to the corned. A small ice cream shop was just across from the door. John thanked and paid the man as Sherlock and Quinn exited the car. When John exited he couldn't find the two at all. He looked inside the shop only to find Sherlock and Quinn sitting at a table in the corner.

"And that one?" Sherlock pointed to an older lady holding a ugly looking purse with a way to flashy dress on. She looked like she got stood up at the ball.

"She cheating on her husband because on the tan lines on her finger. She likes to spend a lot, there are diamonds around her neck, but she had terrible looking shoes. She has cats, a white, a grey, and a brown." Quinn started. Looking up and down to see everything, just like Sherlock did.

"Good, but how many cats?"

"Um, four," Quinn squinted.

"No, three." Sherlock noticed Quinn's disappointment and tried to correct it, "You, uh, did good. You'll get better with practice. That's what I did."

"Lyer," Quinn accused, "you were born with your talent. I'll never be as good as you." He pouted.

"That's not true. There are many people who aren't like me at all, but they do the same thing that I do. Lestrade, Donovan, even that idiot Anderson. They can't see like me, but they still do the same things I do. We catch bad people, people who hurt others. We catch and stop those people. So never think you're not good enough. If Anderson can do it, so can you." Sherlock encouraged, though a little awkward. "Now lets-"

"Let's order some ice cream." John interrupted. "I heard what you two were saying. That was very good, both of you. Now let's hurry, we don't want to keep Lestrade waiting. He'll be very angry."

Sherlock went to order them all ice cream. John got chocolate, Quinn got strawberry, and Sherlock got mint chocolate chip. Quinn had never tried ice cream before, his father wouldn't let him, but he loved strawberries and so he loved the strawberry ice cream. When he had finished, he had more of it on his face and chin than anywhere else. John fretted over him, like the mother hen he was, and took him to the loo to get cleaned up.

"Quinn," John started, "why did you call me and Sherlock, Papa and Daddy. Shouldn't those be the names you use for your parents? And why did you make up a story about us being a family?"

"I don't have any," Quinn admitted. "The people that I lived with were not my real mother and father. They died in a car accident and I was put into foster care. I'm going back there, aren't I? I'll never see you or Daddy again? I want you to be my family, you'd be my new family," Quinn started tearing up.

"No, no, Quinn look at me," the younger child looked up through his tears. "I will do everything in my power to keep you for as long as I can. I promise you that. I won't leave you Quinn, I'll be right here for you, Sherlock and I both. Now come on, we have to go see Lestrade and get everything cleared up. Will you be strong for us? Will you be a big boy and help us put bad people away?" Quinn whipped his tears away and nodded. John grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door where Sherlock was already waiting for them.

"Come John, Quinn, we have to hurry. My experiments won't last long out of a cold environment and Lestrade just loves to talk." Sherlock rushed them, hailing a cab and piling them all in it.

"Daddy, what's an experiment?"


End file.
